


The Speed of Light

by readwriterepeat



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Multi, Roommates, or something like that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-01-27 18:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readwriterepeat/pseuds/readwriterepeat
Summary: Marvin Feynman's plans for his junior year of college:-Finally live without a  roommate-Maintain his tepid-but-steady relationship with his girlfriend Trina-Overall, have a relaxed, unremarkable yearWhizzer Brown ruins Marvin's plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multichaptered fic I've attempted in a long time. Hopefully it goes alright. I was going to wait until I had most of it written to post anything but... I'm impatient. So here it is.

_-Marvin-_

Opening the door to the dorm room Marvin Feynman will be inhabiting his junior year of college is an ordeal. Between the duffle over his shoulder that keeps sliding down his arm, the overloaded backpack slung onto the other arm, and the trash can stuffed full of miscellaneous items in his hands, removing his new key from his pocket is a challenge. Marvin curses under his breath as he shifts the trashcan so it hangs from one hand, and the plastic lip that he is using for purchase digs farther into his fingers. The duffle drops from his shoulder again and jerks down on his forearm, almost causing him to drop everything and he curses again, louder. The key eventually finds the lock and Marvin fumbles to turn the knob. Eager to deposit the things he is carrying, Marvin shoves the door open and... stops in his tracks.

He leans back to double check the number on the door, and compare it to the number that had been scribbled in sharpie on the tiny envelope his key came in. They match. Hesitantly, he takes a step in and sets his belongings on the floor. The room has all of the plain wooden furniture he knew it would, and the cheap linoleum tiles that every other room in this building does. He was ready for the slightly chipped walls and the loose ventilator cover that will inevitably bang to the ground any time someone so much as nudges it. A standard wall stands directly across from him and houses a standard window with standard blinds. It wasn’t the room that had shocked Marvin. It was the presence of the other boy that seemed to inhabit it. 

The boy is shuffling through some things on his desk and shoving them into a messenger bag. He is taller than Marvin, and his hair looks like he spent more time on it this morning than Marvin has spent on his own in his entire life. When he finishes loading his bag, the boy turns and flashes his teeth at Marvin in a quick grin. It is a charming smile, even just as a careless, polite gesture. 

“Hi, I’m Marvin. I think this must be some kind of mistake. Are you su—”

“We can talk later, I was just on my way out.” the boy strides toward where Marvin is still partially blocking the door, forcing Marvin to step aside to let him pass. “I’ll stay out of the way while you get settled.”

And he’s gone, already carried halfway down the hallway by his long legs before Marvin can think to protest. 

Marvin sighs and pushes his belongings onto the side of the room that hasn’t already been claimed.

Checking his school account, Marvin notices that in the past two days his room assignment had been changed from the single room he had wanted to buy out to a double room with a roommate. Groaning, he leaves to find someone who can fix whatever got screwed up.

After an hour of talking to the residence hall coordinators Marvin isn’t any closer to acquiring the single room he had been expecting. All that is offered in exchange for the switch is a halfhearted apology and the excuse that a few people were added to the system within the past few days and the housing department had scrambled to find placements for them. 

Marvin returns to his shared room after another handful of wasted attempts to be moved into a single, and slams the door behind him before sitting forcefully on the side of his bare mattress. So now he has a roommate. A roommate who’s an asshole that couldn’t even be bothered to introduce himself or answer Marvin’s questions before he ran off.

The other boy-- Whizzer Brown, as his online housing documents informed him-- had already situated his side of the room. The bed was made with tasteful sheets. The shelves on his desk are stacked with books, a signed baseball, both a digital camera and a polaroid. The bland wall above his bed is hidden by pictures of his friends, and a poster for the Yankees. Another poster of a shirtless man. 

The second poster catches Marvin off guard and he scoffs even though there’s no one in the room to hear it. He gazes with dread at his own belongings that still need to be unpacked. Instead of beginning the task he falls back on his bed. It is going to be a terrible year. 

_-Whizzer-_

Cordelia's apartment is only a ten minute walk from Whizzer's building. 

"Already got kicked out by your roommate?" she teases when he arrives. "I know you can be annoying but you must have gotten to work quick if you pissed him off that badly on the first day." 

He walks into the main room. The school apartments are bigger than the dorms, but not by much. They’re in a communal living room with a corner of it sectioned off to serve as a kitchen. Two bedrooms and a bathroom make up the rest of the space. Whizzer doesn’t know the other two girls that Cordelia and Charlotte share it with. "Not giving him a chance to get pissed is more like it. When'd you get this?" He flops down onto a couch in her living room he hasn't seen before. 

"Charlotte and I found it yesterday at Good Will. Seven dollars." 

Whizzer scrambles back to his feet and raises a hand warily to the part of his head that had rested against the couch.

Cordelia rolls her eyes. "We cleaned it obviously." Whizzer nods but doesn't sit back down. 

"Where’s Charlotte?" He asks, trailing instead into the tiny kitchen. Cordelia predictably has something cooking on the stove.

“She has a study group. Can you believe it? Classes don’t even start until tomorrow. Piece of advice Whizzer: don’t date a good student. They’re always busy.”

“Well then, you’ll be happy to hear that I brought some stuff to study while I avoid my roommate.” He pats the brown bag that hangs at his hip. 

“There’s nothing to study! It’s not like you have a test scheduled yet!” Cordelia protests, exasperated. 

“Ah, there’s always something to study, Delia. That’s the sad truth.” She moves past him to stir whatever is simmering in her pot. He has to press himself against the counter to let her by. “My professor will rip me a new one if I go into optics without a solid understanding of harmonic oscillators and that shit. Gotta brush up.”

Cordelia feigns despair. “I forbid you from speaking of physics in this kitchen. I need a safe space. What did I do in a past life to end up with a pre-med girlfriend and a best friend who’s a physics major? The Gods want me to live a lonely, boring life.”

She flicks the stirring spoon in her hand to add dramatic flare and a red sauce splatters across the cabinet in front of her. “Am I allowed to speak of physics to tell you that Newton and his first law would have know not to swing a saucy spoon around like that?” Cordelia rolls her eyes at him and reaches to wipe up the mess. “Alright, calm down Eeyore. Plus you’re cooking as we speak. That’s basically studying for you culinary students.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not the same.” Whizzer doesn’t argue. 

“So why are you hiding from your roommate again? You don’t even know whether he’s worth hiding from yet.”

Whizzer pushes himself up so he’s sitting on the countertop behind her and cranes his neck to see what Cordelia is making. Probably spaghetti. “They told me when I moved in that he was planning on having that room to himself until they threw me in there at the last minute. It didn’t look like he was expecting me to be there when he came in earlier. I’d be annoyed if I were him.”

She pauses her ministrations to turn and give him a kiss on the temple. “Well I’m thrilled you came back. That more than makes up for this kid not getting his special single room.” Whizzer smiles his thanks.

“Plus all college-aged boys are assholes,” he continues. “It’s a safe bet that this one doesn’t break the trend.”

Cordelia laughs. “You’re a college-aged boy, Whiz.”

“Further proof,” he states matter-of-factly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Procrastinating important things by writing this, who's surprised?

_-Marvin-_

The next few days find Whizzer as absent as he had been on move in day. They’ve exchanged names and numbers so they can call each other if either forgets their keys, but Marvin still knows next to nothing about him. Marvin is annoyed that Whizzer hasn’t shown any interest in talking to him. It’s polite, if nothing else, to be on good terms with one’s roommate. But Whizzer leaves early in the morning for class and only makes quick stops back in the room throughout the day. Even during the times when they’re both in the room Whizzer will say hello, but otherwise just ignore Marvin. It drives Mavrin crazy, to be brushed off so thoughtlessly. 

The first conversation they have that contains any content more than pleasantries is on Thursday night when Whizzer texts Marvin during his night class. The buzz of his phone breaks through the dull economics lecture, and Marvin is eager to check it until he sees the sender.

_'Mind if I have the room for a few hours tonight? I’ll text you when you can come back.'_

It doesn’t sound much like he’s asking for permission. The clock on Marvin’s phone reads eight-thirty. He only has half an hour left in this class and he really doesn’t feel like doing anything but returning to the room, collapsing into bed, and maybe watching some Netflix when he’s done.

 _‘Late notice don’t you think?’_ Marvin responds. Hopefully Whizzer will take the hint and tell Marvin that he’s right, and to not worry about it.

He doesn’t. _‘Won’t need too long.’_

The professor drones on at the front of Marvin’s class, demonstrating possible effects on demand curves for what feels like the hundredth time despite it still being the first week.

_‘And what do you expect me to do? Just sit around and wait for your permission to return to my own room?’_

The next response comes almost immediately. _‘Do some homework. Find a friend to hang out with. I’ll text you.’_

Marvin slumps down in his chair and lets his head fall back.  
\-----

When class is over he meets up with Trina. They sit in a booth across from each other in the only dining facility on campus that’s still open. A plate of fries rests on the table between them and Trina picks at them while she talks. Marvin grabs them three at a time, keeping his mouth full as an excuse to not respond much to her stories about the first couple days of classes. 

This only works as a diversion technique until she asks him a direct question. “How are all of your classes going so far? You seem busy.” She looks at him expectantly. Waiting for him to tell her that he’s already drowning in schoolwork and that’s why he has spent so little time with her this week. 

Marvin doesn’t have the energy to try and excuse why he hasn’t seen Trina more. He doesn’t need to come up with an excuse for himself anyway, she’ll make one up for him. “Nothing crazy.” He says with a shrug. Then, as an afterthought, “and yours?” Trina stammers a little and he realizes she’s just spent the last twenty minutes explaining her classes to him. “Just your week, I mean,” he stumbles to correct himself. 

She is clearly not convinced by his poor attempt at showing interest in her, but she begins telling him about a study group she’s invited to at a coffee shop this weekend, and pretends not to notice any issue with how he’s acting. Just as she pretended all summer that he was reasonable to only visit her four times over the entire three months just because they live an hour away from each other. 

Marvin treats her worse than she deserves, but she hangs on to him, and he’s not going to be the one to break it off. Around ten he tells Trina that she can go back to her room if she wants, she doesn’t have to wait with him. She stays until Whizzer texts at eleven-twenty anyway. When the text comes in he kisses her and heads back to the dorm without delay.

\-----

Marvin makes no attempt to hide his annoyance when he shoves his dorm room door open. Whizzer is lounging on his bed, freshly showered and still topless. He looks satisfied, which aggravates Marvin further. The thin line of a scar on Whizzer’s right cheekbone stands out against skin that is still flushed pink from the heat of his shower. Even with floppy wet hair and wearing only sweatpants he still somehow looks more put together than Marvin feels. Marvin’s eyes catch on his torso for a moment before he turns his back toward Whizzer to unpack. 

He finishes unloading his backpack without any acknowledgment from Whizzer. “Not even a thanks?” Marvin plops grumpily to sit on his bed and Whizzer squints at him, as if confused by Marvin’s attitude. 

“Thanks.”

“It’s not very polite to kick someone out of their own room with so little warning, you know? And on a school night no less.”

“Didn’t realize it was past your bedtime.” Until this moment Marvin hadn’t known that apathy could actively read as such a strong emotion. 

“It’s not--” Marvin takes a breath. “Just think of how you’re inconveniencing the other person that actually lives here before you make plans to...” Marvin waves his hands vaguely. “Have a girl over.” This time when Whizzer looks up at him he’s clearly amused. One eyebrow is cocked in disbelief at Marvin’s question. “Or… have a boy over. Or whatever.” Marvin’s eyes flick to the poster of the shirtless man that embellishes Whizzer’s wall. “You know it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more discreet by the way.”

Whizzer rolls up into sitting position so he’s facing Marvin. “Clearly I’m already too discreet if you thought I’d hook up with a girl.” And, okay, maybe that isn’t the smartest thing Marvin’s said. 

Marvin’s attention is pulled back to the exposed skin of the other man’s chest and stomach. Whizzer is lean in a way that only men their age can pull off without looking too skinny. Still tan from the summer. Marvin has to consciously deflect his thoughts from wondering how warm and smooth all that skin had probably felt against Whizzer’s hook up’s hands. 

“Look, I’m just asking you to be more considerate when you do something that affects me. You left me with nothing to do for three hours.”

“Jesus, it’s not the end of the world Marv.”

“It’s Marvin.”

Whizzer carries on without acknowledging the correction. “Don’t you have friends? I know you had your backpack. There’s gotta be something you can work on in there.” Whizzer turns to start digging through a drawer of his dresser. “What did you do, just sit around and mope the whole time?”

Despite the general accuracy of that assumption, Marvin is offended. “I met up with my girlfriend, actually.” He says.

“Great, so we both got a good fuck out of it.”

Marvin tangles a fist into his hair and turns away as if he’s expecting there to be some script taped to the wall for him to read that can properly convey to Whizzer exactly why he’s an asshole. Needless to say, he doesn’t find one. 

“That’s not the point! The point is that I don’t want to have to worry about being kicked out of my room!” 

Whizzer pulls a shirt over his head. “Well you’re welcome to stay and watch next time if you’d like,” he offers. Marvin barely stops himself from throwing one of his pillows across the room at the thought of how childish it would make him look. He also stops himself from responding to Whizzer when he opens his mouth and sees amusement spread across his roommate’s face in anticipation of Marvin taking his bait. 

“I was supposed to have my own room. Thought I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit this year.” Marvin mumbles to himself.

“You have my every sympathy.” Whizzer crosses the room to flick the light off and climbs into bed. 

Marvin turns it back on so he can get ready to sleep. “What happened that you had to register for housing so late anyway? Those deadlines exist for a reason, I hope you had a pretty good excuse if you were allowed to ignore them.” 

“None of your business.” Whizzer rolls over.

Marvin takes his time as he finishes getting ready, and leaves the light on for longer than strictly necessary. It’s petty, but it’s the only win he gets tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't very thoroughly edited but I wanted to get it up. I'll be camping over the week of Thanksgiving and I'm hoping to have at least one more chapter up before then.

_-Whizzer-_

Bass-heavy music pounds to the beat of his heart as Whizzer backs away from the throng of people on the ‘dancefloor’. The apartment he’s in is slightly less cramped than the average student owned apartment, and therefore worthy of hosting a party. 

He is still grinning like an idiot as he stands facing the crowd. The periphery of the room is lined with furniture that has been pushed out of the way to make space for more people, and the fairy lights illuminating the room are clearly duct taped to the walls, but nobody has very high standards. All you need is music and alcohol and people will show. 

When Whizzer left earlier in the night he had been afraid he’d be cold in the loose fitting tank top he wears, but now he’s grateful for the extra air flow through the large arm holes that are cut almost down to his bellybutton. He grips the fabric on the front of the shirt and tugs it rapidly away from his chest a few times to encourage the sheen of sweat on his body to evaporate a little faster. 

Cordelia and Charlotte are still dancing where he left them. Despite their assurances that Whizzer’s company is never a hindrance, he leaves them time to spend alone with each other. Whizzer downs the last swallow of the drink he’s been nursing for the past hour. The plan is not to get wasted tonight, but he is far from drunk and the promise of something cold is enough to draw him to the kitchen for a refill. 

Marvin is here, too, and stands in between Whizzer and the fridge in a small circle of people. Each roommate is almost comically devoted to ignoring the other tonight, and Whizzer fully intends to walk past him without acknowledgement. 

Marvin, however, is being enough of a dumbass that when Whizzer walks by he is derailed from his path to the kitchen. As Whizzer walks closer Marvin’s voice becomes audible over the music. “...And the centrifugal force actually keeps the ball from accelerating as quickly as the block so the block would actually slide down faster...” His delivery is confident despite the fact that even from this snippet of conversation it’s clear that Marvin has no expertise on the topic. His condescending tone begs someone to come knock it’s owner off his high horse. If Whizzer was just a little bit more sober maybe he would have rolled his eyes and kept walking, but instead he slaps a hand on Marvin’s shoulder and slides his way into the group. 

“Hey, what’s everyone talking about?” Whizzer interrupts with a not-quite-friendly smile. Marvin’s attention cuts to his roommate. Whizzer doesn’t miss the quick, interested glance down his body, but by the time Marvin’s hard stare returns to his face it clearly contains both ‘Why aren’t you avoiding me like we telepathically agreed to do?’ and ‘Please go away.’ Whizzer just blinks and waits for a response. 

“He was explaining to us why a ball would roll down a ramp slower than a block would slide down a ramp. Even though it seems like rolling would be faster,” says a pretty brunette that must be Marvin’s girlfriend going by the casual wrap of her fingers just above his elbow.

Of course Marvin is the kind of guy to talk about things he doesn’t understand to try and impress people. Whizzer is thrilled that he gets to be the one to call him on his bullshit. He nods and turns to Marvin with exaggerated interest. “Oh, and why is that?” Marvin narrows his eyes, suspecting that he’s being let into a trap but unsure what it is. 

His cheeks are tinted pink from alcohol but his voice is clear when he responds. “Why do you want to know?” 

“Just curious.”

Marvin tries to glare at Whizzer hard enough to make him walk away, but it quickly becomes clear that Whizzer has no intention of leaving. With a sigh, he begins, “If there’s a ball and a block on a frictionless ramp, and gravity pushes them down, the centrifugal force when the ball rolls will keep it from accelerating as quickly as the block.” 

Whizzer’s smile grows as the explanation goes on. His body is singing to start an argument, and he knows getting Marvin to fight back won’t be difficult at all once his intelligence is challenged. "Okay, one— centripetal force. Centrifugal force doesn't act on anything, it's literally fictitious. And either way that’s not why the ball would be slower.” Whizzer counts up on his fingers. “Two— if a surface is frictionless the ball won't roll at all and both objects will slide down the ramp. Three— gravity doesn’t push anything, it’s an attractive force. Four, and I think this one is heavily implied in the last three,” Whizzer pauses for effect, holding his hand with four straight fingers so it directly faces Marvin. “You're not as smart as you think you are. Don't talk about things you don't understand."

Marvin’s stiffens with irritation at being called out. “Yeah? Why should we take your word on it?”

“Because I’m right.”

“And why should what you think is right hold precedence?”

Whizzer pauses. He’s hit with the sudden realization that he and Marvin have never discussed what they study. Which probably explains why he was willing to present all his bullshit to Whizzer so confidently. He’d expected Whizzer wouldn’t know enough to question what he said. “Because I’m a physics major.”

Marvin’s mouth hangs open in obvious shock. Those in the group who have not yet excused themselves do so now, including Marvin’s girlfriend who kisses his cheek and dismisses herself to go catch up with some classmates.

As they disperse Marvin just continues to look offended at the prospect of Whizzer having a brain. Marvin finally takes a breath to respond, and the corner of Whizzer’s mouth jumps up at the promise of the imminent dispute.

_-Marvin-_

“At least when I go out I wear actual clothes. I’d be reluctant to call that scrap of fabric that’s hanging off you a shirt.” Whizzer scoffs and fires back. Fifteen minutes have passed since Whizzer first intruded on Marvin’s conversation and the discussion between them hasn’t yet lost any of it’s heat. Somewhere in that time, though, the motivation has morphed from genuine animosity to more of a competitive bickering. The fire Marvin sees in Whizzer’s eyes burns on a fuel comprised more of excitement than anger. They both get the same strange satisfaction from these brawls. 

Whizzer ends a rather long winded attack on Marvin’s fashion. “Anyway, who gives you the right to complain about any of my clothes when you obviously enjoy how I look in them?” he tacks on with a smirk. 

Mavin’s head snaps up to survey his surroundings for signs that anyone heard Whizzer’s remark. Finding none, he drags the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Jesus. I need a drink.”

Much to his satisfaction, when he starts making his way toward the kitchen, Whizzer follows. He pulls a red solo shot glass off of a stack on the counter and then, after a moment of contemplation, a second one, and fills both with cheap vodka. Marvin tips his back and overrides his body’s instinct to not swallow something that tastes so exactly like hand sanitiser. 

Whizzer grabs the other shot and his entire face scrunches at the taste when it hits his tongue. He coughs lightly after the drink goes down. “Ugh. I’m much better at swallowing other things,” and shoots Marvin a wink.

Marvin refills his cup.

By the time the night is through Marvin has surrendered his pride (a little bit of it anyway) and has a heavy hand on Whizzer’s shoulder as they head back to their room. The conversation between the pair had eventually, at least for the most part, turned away from insulting each other. To the surprise of both men, they still hadn’t split up by the end of the night.

Before Trina left Whizzer assured her that he would make sure Marvin got back safe. The argument earlier in the evening and her past experience with Marvin’s irritated rants about his roommate no doubt inspired her obvious confusion at the offer, but she let it be. Marvin impressed himself by remembering to give her a goodnight kiss when she said goodbye. 

Now Whizzer is standing by his word, and has an arm looped around Marvin as they make their way up the stairs of their building. Marvin allows it only because he is unsteady from the drinks he had. Not because he enjoys the pressure of a strong arm around him. Definitely not because he finds himself enjoying the pressure of _this particular_ strong arm around him.

And when he moves his own hand from Whizzer’s shoulder to slip around his waist it’s only because it’s a more comfortable way to walk. Marvin isn’t responsible for the fact that his bare forearm presses against the warm skin of Whizzer’s lower back, because Whizzer is the one wearing a tanktop with armholes ridiculously large enough to allow another person’s arm to slide in so easily. 

And Marvin will blame his delirious thoughts on alcohol in the morning, but after he’s dumped in his bed and left to sleep, the body he finds himself wishing he could curl up against isn’t Trina’s, but the one that’s just across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys should let me know if the physics-y stuff was annoying to read. I tried to keep it brief and simple but I feel like it might still feel awkward to read... I want brainy Whizzer to be a part of this though so I can't completely avoid it. 
> 
> Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up by Saturday or Sunday before I leave!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever since I've updated this but now that I'm finished with finals and have a more time I should be able to get back on a weekly-ish update schedule. Also, shout out to [@iconiquc](http://iconiquc.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for proofreading this chapter for me and motivating me to work on this!

_-Whizzer-_

Marvin straightens from where he's bent over his homework and stares forward with his hands perched awkwardly on the edge of his desk. Whizzer doesn't look up from his computer, but is aware of Marvin in his periphery. He knows Marvin wants to talk to him, he's been fidgeting all night. Cordelia told Whizzer to stop running away to her apartment to avoid the interaction, so he’s still here, but he sure as hell isn't going to initiate the conversation. Especially when the discussion will likely turn to Whizzer's personal life— a topic that Marvin has shown increasing interest in lately, and a topic that Whizzer works valiantly to avoid. 

Marvin moves as if he's going to continue his homework, and abruptly changes his mind and pushes back away from his desk, turning in his chair to face Whizzer. "So are you ever going to tell me anything about yourself?" It's blunt. Entitled. Rude.

"Why should I?" Whizzer deadpans. Sure, he knows this has been a long time coming, but that doesn’t mean he’s any more eager to deal with it. 

"We've been living in the same room for months. It seems strange that I don't even know whether you have siblings." 

"I don't know anything about you, either." Whizzer counters, and it’s true, but as it turns out Whizzer also really doesn’t care to hear the story of a closeted rich white boy with a white picket life.

Whizzer waits as Marvin considers this. "I don't," Marvin says, and then clarifies, "I don't have any siblings." 

"I do." Whizzer nods once as if the matter is settled, though he knows it is not, and turns back to his work. 

Marvin sighs, and realizing he'll have to do better, begins, "I grew up middle class. Only child. My parents and I have a decent relationship but we’re not super close. They know what I do but not what I think kind of thing." He pauses to search for more to share and Whizzer sits, nonplussed by the predictable backstory of his roommate. "I played baseball for a couple years in high school until I convinced my parents how much I hated it and they let me quit. I got good grades, took a few AP classes. When I came here," he sweeps his arm vaguely to indicated the college, "I started dating my girlfriend, Trina. Umm. I'm a marketing major."

Whizzer pushes his computer off his lap and readjusts how he's seated on his bed to face Marvin more directly. He arranges himself purposefully, aware of the thin stip of skin that’s exposed where his shirt rides up. Aware of Marvin’s eyes when they linger there.

He can't avoid all of Marvin's questions anymore, not if he wants to maintain the mostly-amicable (though still occasionally volatile) relationship they've kept up since the party. "Fine." Whizzer pulls in a deep breath and settles into the uncaring shell of himself that he presents whenever he speaks of his personal life. "What do you want to know?" 

Marvin’s features quirk up at his victory. "What did you do in high school?"

It's an easy question to answer without bringing up anything important. "I actually played baseball, too. I loved it though. I was captain of our varsity team by junior year. Played some racquetball as well. I was in a photography club."

Marvin nods. Whizzer's answer doesn't reveal much new information. The baseball poster on his wall and the cameras on his shelves are plain to see. "Not many people I know play racquetball. Is that how you got that cut on your face?" Marvin points to the spot on his own cheek where Whizzer's is marked by a thin line. "Or in baseball?"

"No." Whizzer replies, carefully neutral.

Marvin breaks out a smile. "What, are you some kind of thug, getting into fights then?" He jokes.

"No." Whizzer says again. Marvin's smile deflates at the firmness of Whizzer's response. Whizzer is relieved when his next question doesn't press the subject further.

They continue back and forth. Whizzer’s answers are just enough to keep Marvin satisfied without actually revealing much until Marvin asks the question Whizzer knew was coming. 

"So, why did you end up registering for school so late this year?" 

He answers honestly. "I didn't know if I could afford it." 

"Haven't you known how much tuition is since freshman year though?" Marvin presses. 

Whizzer has held a comfortable, but confident posture since the beginning of the conversation. He is well practiced at presenting himself in a very specific way to people. Unbothered. Self-assured. Invincible. 

"I had help from my parents the first couple years." Whizzer shrugs. "Now I don't." 

"Why would your parents stop helping you with college?" Marvin responds, uninhibited by the invasive nature of his questions.

Whizzer is tempted to avert his eyes when he replies, but forces himself to look up. He refuses to show any shame. “They caught me with a guy this summer. My dad roughed me up a little bit.” At his words, Marvin’s attention flicks to the scar on Whizzer’s cheekbone, the one he’d just teased him about, and Whizzer instinctively rotates his head a little bit so that side of his face is turned away. “He kicked me out. I didn’t know how I was going to cover tuition without their help so I pulled out. Then decided last minute to say fuck it and take out some loans. I have a little in savings, reapplied for financial aid as an independent… and here I am.”

He re-squares his shoulders, though his poise held up the whole time. Confident but casual. Unaffected. Internally, he dares Marvin to make some pitying remark, prepares to chew him out if he looks at Whizzer like a kicked puppy, as other people have.

Marvin deadpans, “You should be more careful where you screw.” It’s such an inappropriate dick-head thing to say that it almost startles a laugh out of Whizzer, but he doesn’t want to give Marvin the satisfaction. Still, the comment immediately lets Whizzer deflate from his intentionally nonchalant facade into a more honest comfort. 

Instinctively, he jabs back at Marvin, eager to test how far this newfound decorum will take them. “Or I could take inspiration from you and just hide my sexuality by sleeping with women instead.”

Marvin’s jaw stiffens, but he ignores Whizzer’s implication and lets the comment slide. Whizzer knows that Marvin is only biting his tongue to protect the fragile peace between them, but his silence still brings Whizzer a sense of accomplishment.

One comment and he is no longer the most vulnerable one in the room. Just like that, Whizzer has regained the upper hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited for the next chapter... it has one of the first scenes that I wrote for this fic. Can't wait for you guys to read it!


	5. Chapter 5

_-Marvin-_

There are common phrases that people respond to as a reflex. For example, whenever someone asks Marvin how he is, he tells them he’s ‘doing well, thank you’, regardless of how terrible he feels. So when Trina calls wanting to go on a date he has already spoiled his normal excuse of a headache by the time she asks the question. 

It’s stuffy in the theater, and just a little bit too warm. Trina hangs on to Marvin’s right arm, and leans against him from her seat. His annoyance at the extra heat from her touch grows quickly as time passes, but he knows he has to let it be if he wants to appease her, so Marvin just endures his discomfort.

After sitting through classes most of the day, and cooping himself up in the library for the rest of it, the last thing that appeals to Marvin is sitting trapped in yet another public space for a few more hours. Trina has been prompting him to take her on a date all week though, and he is running out of reasonable excuses for postponing it. Dinner and a movie in the small city center near the college sounded like a reasonable price to pay to get his girlfriend off of his back for a while– the whole weekend if he was lucky– but after so little activity during the day sitting in the stifling theater for two hours is torture.

The generic rom-com of Trina’s choice fails miserably at holding his attention, and he has spent the majority of his confinement staring into space or mentally reviewing the topics covered in his today’s marketing class. Now, the motivation he has to think about school work is rapidly exhausting itself, and instead Marvin finds himself fantasizing about all of the better ways he could have spent this time. Like relaxing back in his room. He wonders what Whizzer is doing– whether he would allow Marvin to breathe or if his roommate would start pestering him the moment Marvin entered the room.Probably the latter. He would likely critique this outfit, just as he does to all of Marvin’s clothes.

Marvin’s imagination drifts further from reality. He pictures Whizzer crossing the room to pick at his shirt and making a comment about the pattern or material. Normally Marvin would shove him away and shoot an insult back, but in his mind Marvin is free to respond how he wishes, and knots a hand in Whizzer’s shirt to match the grip on his own. Tugs the other man down on top of himself. Touches all of the parts of Whizzer that the real, movie theater imprisoned Marvin, is not allowed to.

Marvin rarely lets these ideas persist, but he’s too desperate for a distraction right now to push the thoughts away. Thinking about Whizzer doesn’t help him cool down.

When the credits finally roll it takes all of Marvin’s control to not shake Trina off his arm and rush outside.

It’s a relief to shove the glass door of the movie theater open, and Marvin steps hastily into the night air. Trina follows behind him, catches the door after it’s already swung halfway closed, and joins him in the street.

It’s a quiet walk back to campus. Long silences stretch between bits of smalltalk about the film. Trina breaks a particularly taut lull in the conversation. “You know, my roommate is visiting home for the weekend. There’s nothing to stop you from spending the night with me.”

Marvin takes in her hopeful face, and nods his acknowledgement at what she said. Trina doesn’t mistake it as agreement to take her up on the offer. 

“You should spend the night with me, Marv,” she says. Her fingers wrap gently around his forearm as she steps to walk closer by his side. And he knows he should say yes. He needs to get used to spending more time with her if she’s going to stick around. He’ll need to be willing to spend more time with her if they wind up getting married after graduation, and living a respectable life that his parents will be proud of. 

But he can’t. Not tonight. It’s already been too much. “I need a good night sleep. I will next time.” His voice comes out soft and genuine but they both know it’s an empty promise. Trina isn’t naive enough to be shocked by the rejection.

“Okay, sweetheart.” Her hand stays on his arm but she walks just a little bit farther from his side and her gaze doesn’t drift back to him until the two kiss goodbye for the night.

Marvin is still in a foul mood by the time he reaches his dorm. When he tries to scan into the dorm his access card doesn’t read on the first try, and he slams the side of his fist against the outside of the building in an attempt to discharge some of the frustration that had collected in his chest and arms throughout the day. It’s a hard enough hit and a rough enough surface to leave small scrapes on the fleshy part of his hand.

On the second try he gets in. He frowns down at the scratches on his hand. “Stupid…” he mumbles to himself. Memories of his grade school teacher telling his parents that he needs to learn to deal with his emotions before he has an outburst surface and Marvin shoves them back down. 

“Hi,” Whizzer says, glancing up briefly from the papers on his desk at the sound of Marvin entering the room before focussing back on his work. Marvin walks to his bed, and he almost gets to finally rest, but Whizzer realizes that his greeting went unanswered and _clearly_ can’t just let it go. “What’s got you so grumpy?”

“Just a long day,” Marvin groans, flopping down. 

“Yeah? Need help taking your mind off that hard, hard life of yours?” The taunt is half-hearted, but it annoys Marvin more than it normally would. Maybe because thoughts of Whizzer _had_ been taking his mind off things earlier that night. 

Whizzer notices how bothered Marvin is and scoffs. “Oh, calm down Marv. Weren’t you just out with your girlfriend? She can’t be that bad.”

Marvin tries to ignore him but Whizzer is too interested now to drop the conversation. “I don’t know how you do it.” Whizzer’s voice drips with sarcastic admiration. “Always having to sacrifice all of your valuable time to us lesser beings.” 

“I wasn’t in the mood, okay? I’m tired.”

“Mmmm, tired of pretending to be in love with your girlfriend? That’s understandable. I would be tired too if I had to keep up a relationship with someone I’m not attracted to.”

Marvin sits up to look at Whizzer. His blood is hot, but he tries to keep his voice level. “Knock it off. Nothing about my relationship is any of your business.” He waits a beat longer than he should before continuing. “And I do love her.” 

“Maybe you do, but not like a girlfriend.”

Marvin’s fingertips go white where they grip too hard on the edge of his bed. “Who are you to say how I feel?” He knows, somewhere in the more logical part of his brain that Whizzer is just trying to get a rise out of him. That responding like this is only encouraging his roommate, but he can’t help it. 

“You don’t love her enough to break it off. You don’t love her enough to tell her the truth and let her get on with her life.”

Marvin’s body does its very worst impression of a calm person. “Like you know anything about love. Have you ever had a relationship that lasts more than twenty minutes?”

“One got up to forty if you count foreplay,” Whizzer brushes off the comment like he doesn’t care, but the humor is gone from his voice. “I may not have serious relationships but that’s because I don’t string people along. I don’t lie to them about what they’re getting into.”

“Shut up.” He has to force the words through clenched teeth.

“I’m not selfish enough to take advantage of people and lie to them and treat them like shit just because I’m afraid of people knowing who I am. I don’t _use_ people–”

"Shut! Up!" Marvin bellows, and Whizzer lets himself be cut off. 

"Why don't you make me?" His eyes hold Marvin's, full of contempt. He’s digging further under Marvin’s skin. Testing how far he can push before Marvin breaks. 

The truth of Whizzer’s flirting is that it feels like an interrogation as much as a compliment. Now more than ever Whizzer’s teasing words have an accusatory tone. He’s noticed Marvin’s interest and is trying to get him to admit it by offering everything Marvin wants, but can’t have. 

The strong, angular lines of Whizzer’s face and body pull Marin’s attention like a statement art piece might. Anger hardens his features. The shape of him is endlessly more intriguing than Trina’s soft edges. A familiar want stirs within him. To see, to touch, to _have_.

Marvin takes the dare. Three fast steps forward and his mouth crashes against Whizzer's. He means it as a joke, he thinks. To call Whizzer's bluff. But when Whizzer moves his lips to respond, and their teeth clash, and their tongues meet, and strong hands grab his upper arms, it doesn't feel like a joke. Whizzer consumes him. 

Marvin pulls a deep breath in through his nose and it's like inhaling him. The scent of his skin, the moisturizer he uses on his face, Whizzer's own exhaled breath. It’s as if his body needs to match his mind, but the only thought in his head right now is  _ Whizzer, Whizzer, Whizzer _ . So Marvin’s body breathes him in, desperately trying to fill itself with the other man as quickly as possible in order to reach coherence with Marvin’s thoughts. The oxygen he drags into his lungs is only a byproduct of this other, grander task.

Kissing Whizzer feels like the beginning and end of everything. He can't process anything but the adrenaline in his body. His veins are buzzing with anger and lust and Marvin can no longer draw the line between the two. Both have been building since the first day he arrived and found a stranger in his room. 

Marvin squeezes the flesh where Whizzer's neck meets his shoulder hard enough that it has to hurt, but Whizzer doesn’t react, only pushes forward to deepen the kiss. Marvin sucks Whizzer’s stupid, pouty bottom lip into his mouth one more time and then shoves him away.

They stand facing each other, chests heaving. Marvin’s hair falls in his face, disturbed enough that Whizzer must have had a hand in it at some point, though Marvin can’t recall when that happened. Finally, Whizzer wipes his chin with the back of his hand and the corner of his mouth quirks up triumphantly. "You kiss your girlfriend like that?" 

This snaps Marvin from his trance and he suddenly has to fight the urge to punch the man across from him. Instead he grabs his keys from his desk, his phone from his bed, and slams the door on his way out of the room. It’s not nearly violent enough to be satisfying, but it’s something, so he slams every other door he passes through on the way out of the building as well. 

His arms tingle with the desire to hit something. He clenches his fists, tugs on the lanyard that holds his keys, attempts to dissipate some of his anger. His chest feels like it will collapse if he doesn’t scream, so he waits until he’s outside and then yells as loud as he can at the parked cars he finds there. People in the dorm must be able to hear him, but he doesn’t care. 

Marvin starts walking to Trina’s room, until the adrenaline takes over and he runs. He is breathing hard by the time he reaches her door, but he has enough breath to pull her immediately into a rough kiss. If she finds any hint of Whizzer on his lips, she doesn’t mention it.

He rants to her about how much he hates Whizzer. She listens patiently. 

He throws a pillow across the room. And then a book. Trina pretends she isn’t afraid of him. 

Marvin kisses her again. He has sex with her. It does little to release the tension coiled through Marvin’s body. She satisfies him as much as a leaf of lettuce would satisfy a starving man. 

Lying in the aftermath they don’t quite fit together, but they try. “I love you,” Trina says, tentatively, into his shoulder.

There are common phrases that people respond to as a reflex.

Marvin replies immediately. The words leave his lips without thought, as meaningless as pleasantries to a stranger. “I love you, too.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been a while since I posted so quick recap: Marvin and Whizzer are college roommates and Marv isn’t happy about it. They hated each other for a while but finally started getting along better. Until last chapter when they started fighting again and Marvin kissed Whizzer in a pretty unromantic way and then stormed out of their room. And that’s what you missed on Glee.

_-Whizzer-_

It’s late in the evening, and Whizzer watches Cordelia flit around her tiny kitchen. His reservations about touching the thrift store couch in her apartment have long since dissipated, and he lounges deeply into one corner of it, his ankles crossed over the opposite arm, as he lets his mind drift without settling. The vestiges of color from the sunset mix with the streetlights spilling through the west facing windows and cast Cordelia’s apartment in a warm glow.

The visit was meant to be a study session but it had been over an hour since he had gotten stuck on a derivation for his optics class and taken a ‘break’ that had yet to show any sign of ending. 

The front door clicks open behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see Charlotte walk in, looking tired, but happy to be home. Her eyes immediately find Cordelia, and a small noise of delight sounds from the kitchen. “Hey, Whizzer.” Charlotte smiles down at him as she walks past. He waves back, returning her grin. Cordelia meets her halfway across the living room. “Hi, baby.” Cordelia holds her flour covered hands carefully off to her sides but Charlotte’s hands rest on her girlfriend’s waist as she kisses her hello. “What are you making?” 

They trail back to the counter where Cordelia is working, and Charlotte mindlessly starts helping with the smaller tasks as they catch each other up on the day. They flow seamlessly with each other in a way that only comes from spending so much time with another person that you learn the patterns of how they move and think. Whizzer has never been one to crave the routine that comes with settling down, but seeing his friends so content in sharing this mundane task almost convinces him of the appeal. 

He doesn’t normally think of trust as something that can be so thoughtless, or of love as something that can be so casual, but somehow Charlotte and Cordelia make trust and love seem like the most natural things in the world. Soft touches and softer looks. Such gentle affection that the harsh edges of the world around them smooth out into something more kind. 

Offhandedly, Whizzer tries to imagine himself in their place. Coming home to the same person every night. Relying on them, sharing a life. His mind stays traitorously blank. 

Cordelia slides a tray into the oven, and Charlotte gives her another quick kiss before retreating into their bedroom to change out of her scrubs. A minute later Cordelia comes over and sits heavily on Whizzer’s legs.

“Hey, ow!” He yanks his legs out from under her and repositions them across her lap. “You could have just asked me to move.”

“Would you have?”

Whizzer pouts halfheartedly. “I would have if I knew the other option was two broken shins!”

Cordelia laughs at him, and then they both settle into silence. The orange glow of the sunset has dissolved into a faded purple, but the ambiance hasn’t changed. 

“Are you avoiding Marvin again?” Corelia asks. “Not that I mind you being here obviously. You just seem to be keeping clear your room like you did when you two were fighting.”

Whizzer sighs. “Kind of.”

“I thought you guys were getting along better?”

“We were. We are. I don’t know, Marvin…” he trails off and runs a hand through his hair. Cordelia squeezes his legs gently where they rest on top of her while she waits for him to collect his thoughts. “He kissed me.” Cordelia’s eyebrows fly up. “And now he’s being weird about it.”

“Oh my God, Whizzer. Isn’t he dating that girl Trina?” 

“Yes. Why do you look so surprised? I’ve told you he’s gay.” 

“You tell me everyone’s gay!”

“That’s because they are—”

“Wait, wait, what happened? Like, how did it happen?” She pats his legs impatiently to get him back on track.

“I don’t know I just...” he waves a hand around in a manner that does nothing to help get his point across. “I was flirting with him. But not like _flirting_ flirting. Just teasing him like I normally do, but he was super riled up for some reason. So he was telling me to shut up and then I told him to make me shut up.”

“Whizzer!”

“I didn’t think he would actually do it! I mean, I knew he wanted to, but I thought he was way too deep in the closet to ever actually kiss me!”

Cordelia stares at him speechless. Whizzer feigns an innocent smile.

Eventually she just shakes her head and gives up on the idea of scolding him for provoking his probably-not-as-bad-as-Whizzer-says roommate. “So. How was it?”

“How was what?” says Whizzer, obviously thrown off by her quick change of mood. 

“The kiss, doufas.”

“Oh.” He has the gall to act like it isn’t an obvious question. “It was… good.”

Codelia folds her arms over Whizzer’s legs and leans down to rest on them, with her head turned to face him. When she doesn’t speak, he continues.

“Marvin’s not a bad kisser. And he’s attractive. Just, you know, objectively.” Whizzer thinks he sounds nonchalant, but the rapid growth of Cordelia’s grin forces him to backpedal. “He’s still an asshole though. I thought he might turn out to be tolerable for a while but now he’s grumpy again and extra defensive and condescending. Even when he tries to get along with me now it’s super uncomfortable.”

“You like him.” Cordelia’s smile doesn’t fade as Whizzer flounders to find a way to convince her otherwise. 

“Why would I like Marvin?” Whizzer asks. “He’s self centered, and rude, and entitled. Which of those sounds like an attractive quality?”

“And charming, and smart, and hot.” She mimes a swoon the best she can from where she’s curled over him. 

He lets his head fall to the side so his face is buried in the back of the couch. Predictably, Corelia takes this as his surrender. 

“Wow. It’s clearly not something you can really pursue because of the girlfriend and everything but this is huge, Whizzer! I never thought I’d see you, Mr. Anti-Relationship, smitten over a boy.”

Whizzer groans dramatically into the couch.

“Unless you think Marvin will break off his relationship? It would be sad but probably for the best if he’s running around kissing other people anyway. It would be so new for both of you! He’s clearly never had a boyfriend. Well, I assume. And you’ve never been big on dating either, so you guys would be experiencing it all for the first time together!”

“I don’t want a boyfriend.” Whizzer grumbles into the cushion. 

Cordelia squeals in a way that clearly portrays she doesn’t believe him. “I’m so excited to tell Charlotte!”

Whizzer’s head snaps up from where it’s buried in the couch. “Do not—”

But he is interrupted by the sound of the bedroom door opening and Charlotte returning to the room. 

Immediately upon her emergence Cordelia calls loudly across the room. “Charlotte, guess what? Whizzer has a crush on his roommate!”

Whizzer sits up. “Okay! I’m leaving.” He says loudly and pulls his legs out from under her abruptly. Cordelia jerks forward as her elbows fall down from where they’ve been propped on his shins. 

“Hey, wait, no.” She protests betweens laughs at Whizzer’s haste to pack up his abandoned homework. 

“What?” Charlotte asks as she starts to walk over. Whizzer has already made it to the front door. 

“Goodnight, Charlotte. Hate you Delia—”

Whizzer says at the same time that Cordelia spouts, “They kissed! And Whizzer totally likes him but he’s pretending not to—” and Whizzer closes the door behind him, smiling despite himself. 

Cordelia’s muffled shout of “I love you, too, Whizzer!” reaches him through the door, followed by more excited chatter. 

He reopens the door to quickly to poke his head back in. “Love you, Delia.” Just as swiftly, he slips back out, shuts the door again, and hurries down the single flight of stairs to the parking lot. 

Whizzer isn’t even a block away when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, preparing to laugh at a taunt from Cordelia, only to have his spirits plumet when he sees his parents home phone number flash across the screen instead.

He stops walking, and stares down at the phone. Lets it ring. And ring again. Then, swifty, so he can’t change his mind, he taps answer and raises the phone to his ear. 

A second of silence. 

“Hello?” Whizzer prompts.

The voice that greets him isn’t the one he expects, but he’s thrilled to hear it. 

“Whizzer! Good, I was afraid you wouldn’t answer.”

“Benji! What’s up?” He relaxes as soon as he knows it’s neither of his parents who called. He won’t have to deal with his father’s temper or his mother’s remorse. 

“C’mon. It’s Ben, man, I’m not a child.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes at his brother’s annoyance with the nickname. “Technically, you are though. Not eighteen for another few months yet, are you, Benji?”

“I call you by your dumb nickname.”

“Hey, I’ve got a reason for my name. You wouldn’t want to be named after dad either.” Whizzer starts walking again. 

“Okay then, Michael.” Ben responds.

Whizzer cringes at his father’s name being used to address him. “Fine,” he concedes, wondering what about interaction between siblings always seemed to make both parties act so childish. “Ben. Why aren’t you using your cellphone?.” 

“Dad took it when I missed curfew last week. It’s fine though, I think I’ll probably get it back in the next few days.”

Whizzer made a small noise of understanding and let Ben get away with pretending he wasn’t bothered by his phone being taken.

His brother’s voice sounded through the phone again. “Are you planning to come by the house anytime soon?” Whizzer recognised the false nonchalance of Ben’s voice. It was the same way Whizzer himself spoke when he wanted to sound flippant. Hell, Ben had probably picked it up from him years ago.

“Why, do you miss me already? It’s only been a month,” Whizzer teases. 

“No, I just know mom wants to see you.” It’s almost convincing. “Besides it’s been almost two months. And it’s Yom Kippur this weekend. You should visit.”

“As if we ever actually observe that.”

“Come on, Whizzer. Just for the weekend.”

Whizzer sighs. It would be nice to catch up with Ben, but that comes with suffering through spending time with the rest of his family as well. He’ll have to bite the bullet and visit home eventually though and at least if he goes now he’ll only have to stay for a day or two. 

“Do mom and dad know you’re asking me to come?”

Ben hesitates on the other end of the line. “Mom is always happy to see you.” He says eventually. 

Whizzer shakes his head but acquiesces. “I’ll look up the bus schedule. You’d better tell dad I’m coming before I get there. It will be worse for everyone if it’s a surprise.” 

“I will! I’ll make sure he’s not mad.” Whizzer’s heart falls at the relief in his voice. However unpleasant the trip will be for Whizzer he owes it to Ben to show up. His brother has been forced to deal with their parents alone since Whizzer left for college and still has to finish his last year of highschool before he has the chance to leave, too.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Thanks, Whizzer.” And then, because it’s not cool for teenage boys to care about their siblings, he tags on, “Mom will be so excited.”

They say their goodbyes and Whizzer hangs up, still processing what he just agreed to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been a crazy long time but I haven’t abandoned this fic. Just been really busy with life lately. Hopefully people are still interested in reading this bc I definitely still want to finish writing it.

- _ Whizzer _ -

 

The entire ride from school back to his hometown gradually sucks the air out of Whizzer. When the brakes gently squeak, and Whizzer’s bus stop slides into view, he has a second’s impulse to stay seated. To be carried out of this place as quietly as he arrived. But the bus eases to a halt and Whizzer finds himself stepping out into the stale air of his childhood before he can decide otherwise.

Classes at the college started a month ago, and Whizzer had spent the month before that with Cordelia after he was kicked out, but standing on this street surrounded by cracked sidewalks and lifeless houses it feels like he never left. The same weedy lawns and ramshackle porches expand in front of him, as neglected as ever.

Late summer humidity assaults him on the disappointingly brief trek toward his family’s home. Even dragging his heels Whizzer reaches the house within ten minutes.

The arrival goes as well as anyone could have hoped. Whizzer’s younger brother, Ben, answers the door. His mother’s eyes glow with excitement, though her outward expression is cautiously subdued for fear of aggravating Whizzer’s father, who had been the one to order him away last summer in the first place. And, for his part, that man that everyone had kept in their peripherals since Whizzer stepped in stays quietly in his seat, attention trained on the TV, intentionally deaf to the commotion at the front door.

The Yom Kippur fast begins that evening and everyone but Whizzer’s father, who tends to ignore his wife’s Jewish heritage, honors the tradition. There is suggestion of attending temple the next day but his father immediately shoots down the idea. Which is how Ben, Whizzer, and their mother find themselves watching a live stream of a service on a laptop the following morning instead of going in person. Not being allowed to attend doesn’t hurt Whizzer as much as watching his mother’s resigned acceptance of everything her husband commands. When he had dismissed the idea she hadn’t even requested a reason for the decision, and Whizzer regrets that he had also acquiesced without argument. He wishes he had at least had the forethought to bring an HDMI cable so they could watch from the TV.

Whizzer sighs and pulls his backpack to him from where it’s resting against the couch. He tugs the zipper down, but before he can begin rummaging through his papers Ben flicks him hard on the wrist. “You’re not allowed to work today.”

Continuing his search, Whizzer says dryly, “Ah, but is it really work when you enjoy physics as much as I do? I’ve been ignorant to the mysteries of the universe for twenty years and I’m afraid I can’t wait a second longer.”

Ben doesn’t laugh, just grabs the arm that is fishing through the bag. “Seriously man.”

Whizzer pauses. “Alright.” He says, shocked by the sincerity. “If we’re being this strict you’ve got to at least go change into something white, then. Even I’m doing that part right.” He gestures to his own colorless shirt.

Accepting the compromise, Ben rises from the couch and disappears into his room to change. Whizzer pushes his backpack away from himself and settles into the couch, tuning back in to the live stream of the service.  His mother hadn’t pressured them into honoring the traditions of the day but looks pleased that her sons decided to respect them. “You’re good boys.” She smiles gently and reaches out to place a hand on Whizzer’s knee. “You were always so rowdy at temple when you were younger. Now you two are all grown up. Respectful young men.”

Whizzer places a hand over his mother’s, and is trying to think of something to say back when he hears footsteps, heavier than Ben’s, approaching the room. His mouth snaps closed and he pretends to be absorbed in the live stream again. A few drawers open and close in the next room. If Whizzer turned his head, or even just moved his eyes far to the left, he would be able to see his father preparing breakfast for himself in the kitchen. But so far the two of them have been content ignoring each other, and Whizzer doesn’t want to risk eye contact or any other sort of interaction. 

The speakers on his computer are turned up as high as they’ll go but Whizzer’s ears are tuned to the sounds of cabinets being searched and utensils being shoved around. When frustrated curses join the cacophony of bangs and slams of kitchenware being mistreated Whizzer’s mother gently extracts her hand from under his own, pats his arm, and heads off to stop the kitchen being destroyed. 

“What are you looking for, darling?” Her voice is more tender and patient than his father deserves. The grumbled response is gruff, brief, and unappreciative. His mother is in too deep to expect anything else.

When he had lived at home even Whizzer had become so accustomed to his father’s detached disrespect that he had assumed it was normal. But now with a bit of distance he can see the disfunction more clearly.  The natural ease of coexistence that Cordelia and Charlotte share isn’t present here. Even living with Marvin the frequent spats are balanced out by common courtesy and jovial banter. Whatever good used to live in this house to balance out the bad has long since been overtaken. 

The soft tone of Whizzer’s mother’s voice drifts again from the kitchen but is shortly cut off by a startling bang as a drawer slams shut. Whizzer jumps at the noise and waits in stiff anticipation of what will come next. If there’s another loud noise he’ll get up, he tells himself. Or at least look to see what’s happening. No use getting involved now— it will probably only cause more trouble. Make his father angrier. 

The gravelly reprimand that follows, too low for Whizzer to distinguish the words, is broken only by a small, high gasp that his mom quickly chokes back. Whizzer curls his fingers tightly over the edge of the couch but otherwise he doesn’t move. His gaze is trained on the computer screen, but the stream is so far from his thoughts that if a lion were to come on screen and chomp up the Rabbi preaching from the synagogue down the street, he likely wouldn’t notice.

The couch dips a minute later as his mother returns. Noises of his father fumbling around the kitchen persist, but they aren’t as loud as before. Finally turning his head, Whizzer immediately scans her for signs of injury. Red, finger shaped marks stipple her upper arm, just below the sleeve.   

The gasp he heard replays in his head along with a conjured image of his father’s hand shooting out to grab her arm. His mom fights not to show her pain as rough fingers press into her flesh. As hot breath suffocates her. As she continues to help her offener find whatever he needs.

Whizzer is ashamed by the relief that floods through him at the sight of these marks. Because even though they make him sick, at least, this time, it wasn’t something worse. She sees him looking, and sadness floods her face, but Whizzer knows it isn’t for herself.

Her eyes slide to Whizzer’s cheekbone. He had carefully patted concealer over the scar this morning, but he wouldn’t be surprised if somehow she could still see it there. He ignores the urge to hide his face. Warm fingers wrap around his hand as his mother takes it into both of her own, and Whizzer does the same thing he’s done for twenty years. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

He looks away.

\-----

The rest of the weekend comes and goes, and now it’s Sunday night. Whizzer sits on the curb in front of the house. He had finished packing his bags by early afternoon and all he has left to do is wait. Next time he visits, if there is a next time, he will come up with an excuse to catch a much earlier bus. 

Ben is perched beside him on the edge of the street, keeping silent company. In less than an hour, Whizzer will get to escape back to his friends, and dorm room, and sometimes-friendly roommate. The only place his brother has to go is back into a house writhing with anxiety and contempt. 

Whizzer’s stomach turns at the thought of being trapped here, like his brother is, by circumstance. Ben’s youth makes him powerless. Both brother’s have always kept good grades, knowing a scholarship to a university could be their ticket out of a place like this, but Ben still has a year left of highschool before that happens. He has to face that year on his own, without Whizzer to share the weight of the family’s troubles. 

Guilt roils through Whizzers gut. Guilt for leaving Ben behind in this house to face its demons alone. For always withdrawing instead of standing up for his mother. He’s ashamed to admit  to himself that he’s given up on her. She’s too ensconced in this life to ever leave his father. She isn’t even bold enough to insist on going to a synagogue on a holiday, or defend herself when she’s attacked for not finding a cooking tool quickly enough. Encouraging her to stand up for herself would likely only put her in more danger. But no matter how often Whizzer tells himself this, a voice in his head persists that he should be doing  _ something. _

“I’m sorry.” The words tumble from Whizzer’s lips without his consent. “I’m sorry for leaving you here with them.” 

His brother is fiddling with the end of his shoelace, focussed on the asphalt in front of him. “S’alright. It’s not your fault.”

Whizzer rubs his palms against his pants. The air is heavy with moisture, and despite the late hour he’s sweating. “Nine months until you graduate. Then you can get out of here, too.”

“Yeah,” Ben says, “Maybe.”

Whizzer’s eyebrows pinch but Ben isn’t looking up to see his confusion. “What do you mean maybe? A ton of schools will be eager to take you.”

The ends of his laces are filthy, but Ben twists one tightly around his finger, and then lets it unspool. “If I leave, mom won’t have anyone but him.”  _ Him.  _ Michael Brown. The man has caused so much misery throughout their childhoods, and now Ben is thinking of remaining with him.  

There is a pang in Whizzer’s chest at the thought of their mom being left behind with her husband, but Whizzer had never considered staying.  “Ben, you can’t put your life on hold. All you living here does is make the tally of miserable people in the world one number higher.”

Ben’s shoulders slump forward and he sighs. Suddenly he looks much more than three years younger than Whizzer. “I know,” he says. He lifts both of his hands to rustle them through his hair, and his fingers knot at the back of his head. “I know,” he repeats. 

“Good.” Whizzer whispers, to himself as much as Ben.

The night seems impossibly quiet. The vestiges of light left in the sky cast the neighborhood in otherworldly tones. The colors are more muted than real life.

Ben speaks up again. “If I promise to get out of here as soon as I can, then you have to promise to only stick around nice people. Nice guys. That make you happy, and treat you right, and keep their hands to their god damned selves.” He looks up at Whizzer for the first time since they started talking. “I will never let anyone control me the way dad controls mom.” His voice is venom. “I’m going to find people who will be good to me, and I’ll be good to them, and I’ll never get myself stuck like this again.”

Ben’s eyes hold firm on Whizzer’s. The same shade of brown he’s seen in the mirror for years. “You’d better do the same.” For a second, Whizzer feels like he’s being commanded by himself.   

He thinks of Marvin, who makes him laugh. Marvin with his predictable routine and neat desk and determined ambition. Marvin who kissed Whizzer like he couldn’t control himself, like Whizzer was the most important thing in the world. 

Marvin who pokes and prods until he gets what he wants. Who thinks he deserves things to be handed to him, regardless of how it affects other people. Marvin who yells too much, and cheated on his girlfriend without a hint of remorse.

Ben’s voice breaks the silence again. “Whizzer? Promise you’ll only get involved with people that love you the right way.”

Whizzer pulls his eyes away from his brother’s face and takes a heavy breath.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should finally be some more Whizzer/Marvin focus next chapter. Yay :)
> 
> P.s. I tried to do some research but I’m not Jewish so please let me know if there’s anything I got wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think/ if you have any critiques or suggestions on what to improve. I appreciate any feedback :)
> 
> Also, if you're interested, you can find me on tumblr [here](https://andrewrannellsdeservesatony.tumblr.com/).


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